I Don't Need to Wish: Quirrellmort Drabbles
by spiritrush
Summary: A set of fluffy drabbles/short oneshots containing QUIRRELLMORT! :D Based on their relationship in AVPM. Stories not related to each other unless I say they are! Rated for a VERY quick mention of *cough* love-making. Reviews make my day!
1. I Don't Need to Wish

Disclaimer: I own nothing. :C

**Warnings: Over-fluffiness, **_**extreme**_** shortness, and cliché-ness. :P**

Contains slash, but no man on man action. Just fluffy love.

**A/N: To anybody who is eagerly awaiting an update of my other Quirrellmort story: I AM SO SORRY. D: I really want to update, but I've got some SERIOUS writer's block. **** I will update ASAP. For now, (try to) enjoy this super-short, sickeningly sweet drabble that I jotted down. (I'll probably add more drabbles to this - if I get ideas, that is.)**

"Oh, look, Voldemort!"

Quirrell's face lit up as a shooting star arched across the night sky. The other stars seemed to twinkle joyously as a faint line of stardust smudged the velvety black sky.

"Wow," he breathed.

Voldemort smiled beside him. He loved the way Quirrell's brown eyes grew wide like saucers, how they shone almost as bright as the celestial bodies themselves. He loved how Quirrell's lips turned upwards as his mouth hung slightly open, breath caught for a moment. As mushy and teen fan-girly it was, it was true… he loved Quirrell.

A silent moment passed as the two watched the fallen star disappear from view.

"So, did you make a wish?" Quirrell asked, turning to the other man Voldemort shook his head, staring into the night, then smiled at Quirrell.

"Why not?"

Voldemort had to chuckle at this. Quirrell seemed so dismayed and crestfallen, all because he didn't wish on a shooting star.

"Because I've already got everything I could ever wish for. Right here with me."

**A/N: Did I just drown you in fluff? Sorry 'bout that. :P**

**I honestly don't really like how that came out. D: -lowselfesteem- And it was only 170 words – I feel like it was pointless to post. Ah well. **

**Please REVIEW and let me know if it was really that bad. I'd really appreciate it. **

**And check out my other stories for more (and better) Quirrellmort love if you haven't done so! ;)**


	2. Can I Lick the Spoon?

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, I take no credit for what is not mine.

Warnings: A quick mention of… "love-making." Yes, let's call it that. xD And fluffiness, of course!

**A/N: I've decided to make this a series of drabbles/little oneshots. I have no idea when I'll update, but I will as soon as an idea comes to me and I can type it up. :) When I suddenly got this (kinda clichéd) idea, I decided that I'd type it up and post it. Hope you enjoy it! Oh, and it contains reference to my other Quirrellmort oneshot, "Not This Again!" So if you haven't read that, part of this won't make sense.**

_Where's Quirrell?_ Voldemort pondered, wandering into the kitchen of the small cottage that he and the before-mentioned man shared. It was a nice little place out in the country, away from any other humans. The ex-Dark Lord had given up his evil deeds, but people still hated him (which wasn't that much of a surprise, considering he almost made the whole Wizarding World fall apart).

Entering the small kitchen, he immediately saw Quirrell hunched over the counter. He was holding a spoon over a medium-sized bowl full of a brown, gooey substance. A large, thick book lay open next to the bowl in front of him.

"What's that, Quirrell?" Voldemort's voice had just a hint of confusion layered underneath pure curiosity.

"Oh, hi, it's you!" the other man turned around and laughed a little nervously, having been startled by Voldemort's sudden presence. "I'm making brownies! The Muggle way!"

"… Huh?"

Quirrell amusedly laughed this time, rolling his eyes at his lover's confused and skeptical look. "Brownies. They're a baked, chocolate sweet that Muggles make. And I wanted to give it a try, not using any magic." **(A/N: Yes, I'm sure wizards make brownies too. But just go with it for the sake of the story.)**

"Well that's stupid, not using any magic," Voldemort snorted. Quirrell locked eyes with him, a sad, hurt expression on his face. "Aw, you I love you! And I'm sure you're 'brownies' will taste great."

Quirrell smiled, turning back to his baking supplies. "Well, I'm done with this, just need to bake it!" He fiddled through the drawers; finally he pulled out a baking pan and slowly poured the mixture into it.

"Hey Quirrell… can I lick the spoon?"

A short, chirped "Nope" was the only response the brown-eyed man gave as he slid the brownie pan in the oven, batter-covered spoon still in the bowl that sat on the counter.

"What? Why not!"

"Because, you made me get up and put away my clothes when I was almost asleep! This is a little thing called karma," Quirrell smiled.

"More like revenge," Voldemort muttered. "You know, I can still threaten you with sex!" He warned after a moment.

"I. Don't. Care. You are _not_ going to lick that spoon!" Quirrell told him sternly, a laugh sneaking into the last part of what he said.

A look of frustration and contemplation emerged on Voldemort's face. Then, a figurative light bulb appeared over his head and he began to walk smugly towards Quirrell.

"What are you doi-"

But Quirrell's inquiry was cut short by a pair of lips descending onto his.

"Mm!" he huffed, closing his eyes, as Voldemort gently pushed him against the counter. Right after he wrapped his arm's around his lover's waist, he thought he felt Voldemort's arm reach around him. _What is he doing?_

Suddenly, there was no body pressed against his, no lips touching his, only air. "Wha-?"

When he opened his yes, there stood Voldemort a few yards away, licking brownie batter off a spoon, smugness _emanating_ from him.

"You really _are_ still evil."

"Yeah…"

**A/N: There we go! :) Did you catch that last bit that was in my other oneshot? The part with Quirrell calling Voldemort evil? No? Darn.**

**I hope you liked reading that – I have to say, it was rather fun to write! ^^ Please, please, **_**please**_** REVIEW! :D**


	3. Bus Stop Wrestling Match

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, I take no credit for what is not mine.

Warnings: Uber-fluffy slash. :) And OOC-ness. But really, anything that involves sweet, fluffy Quirrellmort MUST be out of character. :P

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated. x_x School has been extremely annoying, and I've been so stressed that I haven't had any creative flow.**

**I got this idea a little while ago but never got around to writing it. So I forced myself to type it up already. It didn't really come out as good as I wanted it to… but it's up now, and I hope you enjoy it anyway. :) Oh, and "kshh" is my onomatopoeia for what rain sounds like. :p**

_Kshh, kshh, kshh._

The loud echo of drizzling rain filled the mid-morning air. It was a cool and cloudy Saturday – rain forecasted for the whole day – and if one ventured out into the damp streets, they might find two young men standing at a bus stop, taking shelter under the glass-and-metal overhang that shielded them from the dreary weather.

_Kshh, kshh, kshh._

Voldemort looked up at the rain pattering down on the small shelter. It really was loud, especially for a light rain such as this.

Ugh, he was so _bored_. He and Quirrell… Quirrell and he? Voldemort wasn't one for correct grammer. Anyway, the two of them were going to some fancy _museum_, a _Muggle_ one at that (which is why they couldn't just Apparate there), and the bus seemed like it would never come. (They had really only been waiting for a minute and a half, but it seemed like an eternity to Voldemort.)

The once powerful Dark Lord (now the author of "Killing People Is Not the Answer: How to Be More Likeable") sighed and gazed out into the street. The things he did for Quirrell. Well, he supposed Quirrell deserved it, considering he was the reason Voldemort wasn't dead. And suffered in Azkaban as punishment for a crime he didn't commit, after being betrayed by his only friend (and so much more)…

Yeah, Voldemort supposed he owed it to Quirrell. Besides, he was in love with that guy.

The minutes passed slowly. Voldemort was just about to fall asleep on Quirrell's shoulder when his eyes caught a bright yellow car driving by. This caused him to snap awake and punch Quirrell in the arm.

"Ow!" The victim yelped, a WTF!look on his face. "What was that for?"

Voldemort smiled childishly. "Punchbuggy, no punchbacks!"

Quirrell just gave him an (adorably) annoyed look and firmly punched him back.

"Hey, _no punchbacks_!" Voldemort punctuated. "It's a rule, Quirrell." To make the score even, he lightly pounded the brunette's arm once more.

Quirrell glared only half-seriously. "I don't appreciate being punched, even if it's in some childish game."

Voldemort responded with a silly, teasing face. "Is the little squirrelly unable to take a little hit?" he played, trying to initiate a reaction in the other man.

Quirrell's eyes lit up with a "you'llpayforthat" look as he gave in to his partner's teasing. Next thing Voldemort knew, Quirrell had playfully – but firmly – pushed him, causing him to slip. At the last moment before he toppled to the ground, he grabbed Quirrell's arm and pulled him down too.

Then, somehow, they ended up wrestling on the damp sidewalk. Quirrell started on top (A/N: Oh, the accidental innuendos in this!), but Voldemort soon gained control by rolling over, flipping Quirrell onto his back. He held the smaller man down, using his heavier weight to his advantage. Not to be beat that easily, Quirrell smiled (in an impressively evil way) and drew up his leg, pushing Voldemort off his knee.

They continued this for a few minutes, lightheartedly but determinedly (A/N: is that a word? xD) tussling each other on the damp ground. The rain slowed to a drizzle, but that didn't keep the couple from getting soaked. Quirrell had just managed to successfully pin down Voldemort when a car raced by a little too close to the curb, sending a huge splash of water over the two.

The sudden onslaught of wetness caused them to freeze. They shook their sopping hair out of their eyes, faces wide from the shock of the abrupt cold. Looking at each others' drenched clothes and gaping faces, realization washed over them (pun intended). They had just been _wrestling_, out on the street, in the rain.

Simultaneously, they burst out into laughter.

"Well that's something I never thought I'd do; wrestle at a bus stop," Quirrell joked.

Voldemort chuckled, looking up into Quirrell's eyes. He was about to say something witty but when he saw how bright those brown orbs shone, even in the grey bleakness, he mind went blank save one short sentence. "I love you," he softly said.

Quirrell smiled tenderly and leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on his love's lips.

Both of them could have melted into each other right there, but reluctantly they broke apart when they heard the bus pull up. The doors opened and the driver hollered out at them, "Hey, you two lovebirds getting on?"

Said lovebirds blushed and heaved themselves up, giggling much like teenaged fangirls. They tried to brush off their clothes, but it didn't really work, considering they were pretty sodden all the way through.

Quirrell looked uncertainly at the bus driver. "We're, um, a little wet…"

The bus driver rolled her eyes and told them, "Oh, just get on."

The couple complies, wringing out their shirts before entering. As they take their seats, Quirrell notices the amused faces of the other passengers and averts his head sheepishly; however, Voldemort grins, loving how he can assert that Quirrell is _his_. That they belong together, that they love each other.

The bus starts to move. "Hey Quirrell…" Voldemort says.

"Hm?" The spoken-to man acknowledges.

"You know, I honestly wasn't looking forward to this museum outing, but I think that this… bus stop wrestling match… makes it completely worth it."

Quirrell beams at him and takes his hand. "It sure does."

**A/N: Review? Pretty please? c:**


	4. Caught!

Disclaimer: We've been over this – me. no. own. :C

Warnings: Quirrell + Voldy = living in a modern, Muggle house with email and laptops and all that great stuff. And a curse word is thrown in there.

**A/N: I was feeling guilty about not updating ANY of my stories, so I decided to really quickly type up a short, random drabble. And I realized I've never written from Quirrelly's perspective… So here. Enjoy. :3**

_"Aww!"_

Quirrell's eyes quirked up curiously as he heard a strange, girlish squeal come from the next room. _How odd_, he remarked, pushing away the pen and paper that lay in front of him at his desk. Slight suspicious arising in him, he stood up from his chair and walked out from his study.

_"Psh, that's so damn cute!"_

Wait a second… was that… _Voldemort?_

Quirrell turned the corner quietly… to find Voldemort, curled up on the sofa with a laptop, gushing over how _adorable_ something was.

"Whatcha got there?" Quirrell asked bemusedly.

"WHAT! Oh, er, nothing! Nothing at all, Quirrell!" Voldemort exclaimed, startled.

The other man walked closer and tried to get a look at the screen. "It didn't look like nothing. Can I see?"

"No, no, it really, it's nothing!" Voldemort blushed and attempted to cover the screen.

Quirrell just smirked and pulled out his wand (he always had it with him). "Accio laptop!"

Before Voldemort could protest, the laptop magically was summoned and landed in Quirrell's arms. "Now what exactly do we have here…?

Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment as Quirrell's eyes widened and he snickered with joy.

Playing on the laptop was a slideshow of adorable little puppies and kittens and other baby animals in cutesy poses with funny captions.

"Lord Voldemort, watching a slideshow of puppies!" Quirrell laughed. "Oh, that's too good."

"Oh, can it," Voldemort pouted, face red. "I didn't even know what it was at first; Dumbledore sent it to me via email, and you know that guy, he's gay as the fourth of July! You can't blame me for opening an attachment."

"Yes, but you were squeeing like a fangirl!" Quirrell giggled.

Voldemort hmphed. "You're not gonna let me live this one down, are you?"

"Nope."

A/N: Review? c:


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